


the taste of celestiality

by stormwarnings



Category: All For The Game - Nora Sakavic
Genre: Alternate Universe, Camp Half-Blood (Percy Jackson), Multi, and procrastinating, everybodys a demigod, this is me being a nerd, this was supposed to be the funny one but it might end up being sad anyway
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-30
Updated: 2020-05-30
Packaged: 2021-03-02 17:21:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,165
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24450478
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stormwarnings/pseuds/stormwarnings
Summary: “What are the rules, Nathaniel?” His mother combs through his hair. “Repeat them for me.”Nathaniel, small and innocent, leans back into her hands. “Never show anyone the knives. Never talk about family.”“And what’s the last one?”“Never go to the half-bloods,” Nathaniel repeats obediently. He doesn’t know who half-bloods are, but he knows they’re dangerous.
Relationships: Allison Reynolds/Renee Walker (All For The Game), Katelyn/Aaron Minyard, Matt Boyd/Danielle "Dan" Wilds, Neil Josten/Andrew Minyard, Nicky Hemmick/Erik Klose
Comments: 37
Kudos: 153





	the taste of celestiality

**Author's Note:**

> hello. i know i should be working on other things but here we are :)) oops :))) sorry guys im just really excited for the pjo tv show

It’s storming.

Neil fucking hates storms. He hates the pouring rain and the muddy ground and the flashes of lightning, and the ominous rumblings of thunder as he trudges through the grass.

This would be better if his mom was still alive.

Three weeks ago, the monsters had finally caught up to them. When they’d originally gone on the run, they’d escaped with three Stygian iron knives. Unfortunately, Neil had dropped one of them off a cliff two years ago. (His mother had beaten him black and blue for it.) When his mother fumbled the second one in a fight against a hellhound, it had bit into her. She, and the knife, were done for.

Neil had burned her body and buried her bones right where she’d died, under the trees and the sky and the moon. He could only hope that she’d be at rest when she entered Tartarus.

Without his mother’s scent to hide him, the monsters have grown bolder, hunting relentlessly. Neil hasn’t slept more than half an hour a night in five days, and he’d had to resort to stealing food a week and a half ago. He’s tired, and gaunt, and probably looks like a drowned rat. He doesn’t even know where he is, only that he’s near the ocean.

 _Fuck_. The ocean. He wants to hit himself. He’s so exhausted that he’s backed himself into a corner. His mom would kill him if she was still alive.

His hyper-sensitive hearing picks up a growl. He stumbles, and then breaks into a run. He doesn’t even know where he is. _Fuck._

He’s a goddamn disaster without his mom.

The lashing winds and sheets of rain make it difficult to see where he’s going, but he can still feel the vibrations of the pounding footsteps from the hellhounds chasing him.

 _This is a bad idea, this is a bad idea, this is a bad – fuck._ A claw grazes his arm. He makes a split second decision and turns around, jamming the last Stygian knife into the eye of the hellhound. It whines and screams, a harsh, grating sound, and then dissolves into nothingness.

“I’m sorry,” Neil whispers, and then he grips the knife and keeps running.

He really hates knives.

And now, of course, he’s running uphill. This week just keeps getting better and better.

When he gets to the crest of the hill, he’s starting to run out of energy. The sleepless nights and lack of proper nutrition are catching up to him along with the hellhounds, and it’s at the worst possible moment. _Fuck._ When he sees his mother in the Underworld she’s going to kill him again, for this fiasco.

And then the arrow whizzes past his face.

With an answering rumble of thunder, two people reveal themselves, silhouetted on the top of the hill. One has a sword, and the other has a bow. The one with the sword quickly wades into the fighting, expertly stabbing and dismembering the hellhounds. He’s a blur, all precise movements and perfect synchronicity with the archer. With a burst of adrenaline, Neil starts dispatching the ones closest to him.

Finally, the monsters are dead. The rain begins to slow down, and Neil breathes a sigh of relief.

“Hey,” says the boy with the sword.

 _Oh, shit_. Neil quickly shoves the dagger in his boot, and starts backing away slowly. When the boy with the sword steps closer, he turns and starts running.

“Hey, wait!”

Unfortunately, Neil doesn’t get too far before there’s a prick on his shoulder. And then he’s stumbling, falling – and blessedly, asleep.

* * *

He goes in and out, slipping between memories and consciousness.

“Goddamnit, Andrew, you don’t need to tranquilize every stray that we pick up on the hill.”

“This is technically only the second one, Coach.”

“Don’t give me that shit. Do you have to make my life so difficult?”

“I don’t make your life difficult, that’s Kevin’s fault.”

“Your blatant disregard for rules is what makes this _both_ of your faults.”

_“What are the rules, Nathaniel?” His mother combs through his hair. “Repeat them for me.”_

_Nathaniel, small and innocent, leans back into her hands. “Never show anyone the knives. Never talk about family.”_

_“And what’s the last one?”_

_“Never go to the half-bloods,” Nathaniel repeats obediently. He doesn’t know who half-bloods are, but he knows they’re dangerous._

He surfaces, and there’s the vague shadow of two people standing above his bed.

“Do you trust him?” It’s a familiar voice.

“About as far as I can throw him.” That’s the one named Andrew. The one with the bow?

“He looks our age, if a little younger. But that puts him at sixteen, or seventeen. How the hell did he survive that long?”

_He’s laying in a pile, with a brown dog. It’s a very, very big dog. He’s not entirely sure what kind of dog it is, actually, only that it is soft and warm._

_“Nathaniel,” his mother snaps, striding into the room. “Get up. We’re leaving.”_

_She yanks him out of the room, pulling his arm roughly. When he looks back, it’s to see that the big brown dog is a big brown dog with red eyes, and a wide open maw that could swallow souls._

When he finally wakes up for real, it’s to find a tall guy with dark skin and lots of freckles, passed out on his shins.

He deliberately shifts one leg slightly, and the guy wakes with a start.

“Oh, hi! You’re awake! Crap, hold on, let me go get Jeremy.”

“Wait.” Nathaniel scrambles to sit up and grab the guy’s arm. “Where am I?”

“Uh, well,” the guy flounders, then grins. “Welcome to Camp Half-Blood!”

Neil’s heart jumps into his throat. He keeps his voice even. “Thanks.”

“Yeah,” the guy says. “I’m gonna go grab Jeremy now. Hold tight, ok buddy?”

Neil nods, and as soon as the guy is gone, he jumps out of the bed. He’s unsteady and tired after sleeping for gods know how long, but he’s used to moving through pain. He rearranges the blankets on the bed neatly, and then checks that the knife is still in his boot.

He hurries through the halls, past rooms and closets filled with medical supplies. Luckily, he doesn’t run into anyone, but it’s only a matter of time.

He needs to get out of here.

Neil slips through a door and out into the sunlight, and he’s so close, he can disappear into the woods and hitchhike to the next town and – he slams into someone’s chest.

 _Damn it._ It’s sword guy. Sword guy who is, apparently, a solid foot taller than him, with black hair and blue eyes and that huge sword slung across his back.

Sword guy furrows his eyebrows. “You shouldn’t be up and out of bed, Jeremy said…”

“Yeah, yeah,” Neil interrupts. “Jeremy said I was good to go.”

He takes advantage of sword guy’s obvious confusion to start sliding past him. Sword guy grabs his arm. “Hold on – ” 

“Day!” Someone calls, and _oh_ _fucking shit_ that’s a centaur, walking alongside a guy with black tribal tattoos on thickly muscled arms, and Neil needs to get _away_.

The centaur frowns at Neil. “You definitely shouldn’t be out of bed, young man.”

_Desperate times call for desperate measures._

Neil socks sword guy in the face and kicks his knees out from under him. Neil yanks the sword off his back and chucks it in the general direction of the centaur and the tattooed guy, and then he runs.

He’s off the porch and almost to the tree-line when he gets bashed with something.

For the second time in as many days, he’s crashing to the ground.

* * *

The next time he wakes up, he’s sitting. This time, instead of immediately opening his eyes, he holds still, trying to catalog as much as he can. There’s a breeze blowing on his face, so he must be outside. Surprisingly, his head doesn’t hurt, even though he’s pretty sure someone tried to cave in his skull with a club.

“The boy is awake,” someone drawls.

Neil opens his eyes. He’s back on the porch.

For a person who’s spent most of his teenage life running away, he’s been remarkably unsuccessful the past couple days.

He’s sitting in a rocking chair, in front of a table. At the table are four people. The centaur is there, as well as the tattooed man and sword guy. Along with them, there’s a man who looks more like a druggie than anyone Neil’s ever met (and he’s met quite a few). The man has curly black hair and bloodshot eyes, and wears a horrific tiger-patterned Hawaiian shirt. He appears to be the owner of the sleazy voice.

“Ah, yes,” the centaur says. He turns to sword guy. “Kevin, would you go get Jeremy, please?”

Kevin nods and leaves the table. The druggie turns to the fifth person, a kid leaning on the railing. “Andrew, Aaron, whichever one you are, come play for him.”

The kid at the railing is shorter than Neil, which is saying a lot. He has blonde hair, buzzed on the sides and longer on the top, and when he turns, he reveals sea-green eyes, freckles, and an impassive expression. His arms are covered with black armbands, and Neil, who knows knives well, can see the faint outlines of some underneath.

The kid says, “No.”

“That wasn’t a question, Minnow.”

“Andrew,” tattooed guy says gruffly.

Andrew curls his lip, but sits down.

The centaur turns to Neil. “Now, to you. Hm, yes, I believe we can forgo the welcome video. May I ask what your name is?”

“Neil. Neil Josten.”

Andrew’s the only one to notice the slight fumble as Neil repeats his name, but he doesn’t do anything other than raise his eyebrows.

The centaur smiles. “My name is Chiron, although I also tend to pass under the mortal name of James Rheman. Welcome to Camp Half-Blood, Neil. I, along with Mr. D,” he gestures to the man with the awful shirt, “and David Wymack,” the tattooed man gives Neil the hints of a smile. “Run this camp. We treat it as a safe haven, for people like you, to protect you from monsters like the ones that chased you here, and to train you, to survive the world.”

“A safe haven,” Neil repeats.

“Do you know what a half-blood is, Neil?” Rheman asks. When Neil shakes his head, Rheman continues. “Half-bloods are the children of a god and a mortal, otherwise known as demigods. It happened often in ancient times, and it happens often enough now. The gods you learned as myths are still here, Neil, and very much alive.”

“Everyone here are half-bloods?”

Mr. D snorts. “I’m no half-blood, you disgusting whelp.”

“Mr. D,” Wymack says warningly.

Rheman, on the other hand, only smiles gently. “Mr. D is here…on probation.”

“Know anything about Greek mythology?” Andrew asks Neil, speaking to him for the first time. Neil hesitantly nods. “Meet Dionysus.”

Neil looks at Mr. D, whose eyes burn purple. Neil knows a bit about him – the god of wine and revelry, pleasure and madness. That fire in Mr. D’s eyes is a warning. Neil holds his gaze for a minute, then turns back to Rheman. “So you’re saying I’m a half-blood?”

“Of course,” Rheman replies warmly. “You wouldn’t be here if you weren’t.”

 _Damn._ Neil’s mother might actually get out of the Underworld, just to kill him herself. “Huh,” he says. “Who’s my parent then?”

“That is the question, isn’t it?” Mr. D says, and laughs. “That’s always the question.”

“Your bet,” Andrew tells Mr. D, who hisses in annoyance.

“Who are you?” Neil asks Andrew.

“Andrew Minyard,” the boy says. “The guy who knocked you out.”

Rheman sighs. “Andrew and Kevin Day, the boy you…punched, were the ones who brought you back in to camp, after the fight with the hellhounds.”

“Congratulations,” Wymack says to Neil. “I’ve never seen that many hellhounds in one place at the same time in…oh, probably thirty years.”

Neil doesn’t reply.

Mr. D cackles. “Your turn, Midget.”

Rheman and Wymack don’t seem to be playing, content to watch with amusement as Andrew and Mr. D battle it out. Andrew reaches out to throw some cards on the table.

“Curses,” Mr. D mutters. “I could curse you, Minks.”

Andrew gives him a blank look. “You could try.”

"Ha!” Mr. D snorts. “Don’t tempt me, boy.”

“Where is Kevin?” Rheman asks, glancing at Wymack.

Andrew says, “Probably making out with Jeremy.”

Wymack growls, “ _Minyard_.”

Rheman sighs heavily, while Mr. D says to Andrew, “You, boy, are a well-rounded piece of shit.”

The door down the porch slams open, and the voice of Kevin and two others come drifting out.

Mr. D leans back in his chair with a cat-that-got-the-cream smile. “Speaking of shit, you appear to have lost.”

Kevin returns, along with the boy who’d been laying on Neil the first time he woke up, and a golden-haired, hazel-eyed boy, dressed in scrubs.

“There you are,” Wymack says.

“Alright,” Rheman announces. “Matt, would you show Neil here to the Hermes cabin? He’ll be staying there for the time being.”

“Of course!” Matt, it seems, gives Neil a blinding smile. “You gave me the slip earlier.”

Rheman stands up, shaking out his legs. “Then all is in order.”

“Yeah, no problem,” the boy in scrubs says. Neil assumes he’s the infamous Jeremy. “Sure, I think he’s free to go, too.”

“Jeremy,” Rheman says patiently. “Is Neil free to go?”

Jeremy sighs. “Yeah, probably.” Then, “We still up for a match, later, Kevin?”

“Yes!” Kevin looks way too enthusiastic. Neil wonders if Andrew wasn't joking.

“Fucking sword fighters,” Andrew mutters.

Kevin _and_ Jeremy give him dirty looks this time, so Andrew walks off the porch, and Kevin hurries to follow him.

Matt hauls Neil up and out of the rocking chair. “C’mon, you’re gonna love the Hermes kids. We're a big, happy family.”

“Neil,” Wymack calls, as Matt starts to lead him away. When Neil turns around, Wymack says, both gruff and kind, “Watch your pockets.”

Neil uses context clues, then figures it won’t matter anyway, since he doesn’t own anything other than the clothes he’s wearing and the knife in his boot. His mother's voice sounds in his head. _Never show anyone the knives._ Oh, maybe he should take care of that.

“So your name is Neil Josten? You’re pretty quick, Neil Josten. Maybe you’re one of ours.”

“Uh, I don’t know,” Neil says. “You’re…Matt?”

“Matt Boyd, son of Hermes.” Matt holds out a hand, and Neil takes it. “And you’re the kid that managed to piss off the two most powerful demigods here.”

“Uh,” Neil says. “What?”

Matt laughs. “I’m mostly kidding.”

Neil’s still confused. “Who?”

“Andrew, the blonde, he’s the son of Poseidon. And Kevin, the prick with the sword, he’s a son of Zeus. _The_ son of Zeus.”

Neil assumes, from the way Matt is speaking, that he should be suitably impressed. He’s not, really. “Ok?”

Matt pats him on the shoulder. “It’s alright, buddy. Did they show you the welcome video?”

“No.”

“Oh, damn. Well, guess I’ll show you around!”

* * *

The tour of the camp mostly includes Matt talking a lot and pointing out things Neil isn’t sure he’ll be here to see. The Big House is evidently where he’d escaped from, along with a dining pavilion and an amphitheater. Besides that, there’s the woods and all the wild within them, and a myriad of training grounds. (Some of which Neil would actually enjoy trying out.)

“So, yeah,” Matt concludes. “That’s all that. There’s the cabins, for all the gods, or as many as we have children for.”

The cabins are as diverse as the campers that reside in them. Teenagers go in and out, running around and tossing basketballs, sitting and reading, talking and laughing. They all look happy to be here.

Neil points to the three cabins near the end. “Zeus, Poseidon, and Hades?”

Matt glances warily at the sky. “I’d be careful tossing names around, if I were you. Names have a lot of power. But yea, those are the cabins of the Big Three." He clears his throat. "We should get going, though, so you can move in to Hermes cabin, and we can give you a bunk before we have to head to dinner. Bet you’re hungry. I would be, especially if I’d punched Kevin Day in the face. That was great. I think someone’s already made a meme about it. _Andrew_ might have even made a meme about it.”

Neil just keeps nodding.

The residents of the Hermes cabin are friendly, but Neil knows they’re eyeing him. He’s not sure if it’s for his age, or his height, or the fact that he has the look of a boy that cops like to kick out for loitering. He’s given a bunk, he has nothing to mark it as his own.

Matt takes pity on him, and tosses him a fuzzy blanket, plus a balled up tee-shirt. “Thanks,” Neil says. He unrolls the tee-shirt, finding it bright orange, with _Camp Half-Blood_ in black lettering. _Oh, mother, I’m sorry._ “Satellites can see these from outer space.”

Matt, and the couple kids around him, laugh.

At dinner, Matt takes pity on him yet again, and leads him over to a table. “Guys, this is Neil. Neil, this is the friend group.” Then Matt cheerfully flops down next to a girl with braided black hair and an owl tattooed on her forearm.

“Oh, you,” Andrew Minyard says.

“You’re the one who punched Kevin?” A dark-skinned kid, with arms covered in bracelets of every color, gasps theatrically. “You’re my hero. And you’re hot. Allison, catch me, I might swoon.”

Kevin Day is also there, and he grumbles into his salad.

Neil ends up sitting between Dan, a daughter of Athena and Matt’s girlfriend, and Allison. She and the kid with the bracelets (Nicky) are apparently both children of Aphrodite. After that, everyone went around the table introducing themselves, which was generally a lot more information than Neil needed or wanted. But he nods politely, up until the introductions reach the boy who looks like a carbon copy of Andrew.

“Aaron,” the boy says shortly. “Minyard. Apollo’s son.”

Neil squints. “How does that work?”

Aaron looks like he gets this question a lot. "I'm about ten months older."

“Our mother was a slut,” Andrew says in a monotone.

Aaron sighs and nods.

Later that night, Neil lays curled towards the wall in his bunk bed, surrounded by snoring and quiet breathing. He exhales slowly. He shouldn’t be here. His mother would kill him. Probably still will, with her track record.

He pulls out the knife carefully, and glances at the blade, black as night.

A son of the halls of the dead can never really belong anywhere. But maybe for a little while, he can pretend.

**Author's Note:**

> hope this was enjoyed if you took the time to read it! (yes this will definitely be longer whenever i get around to writing more of it)
> 
> come find me on [tumblr](https://stormwarnings.tumblr.com/) :)


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